In High Places

A. R. Butler had his eyes on Alan’s face. They shifted to the judge. And back.

Edgar Kramer was frankly puzzled. Alan observed that Kramer was also strangely restless. Several times he shifted around uneasily in his seat as if physically uncomfortable.

‘Would Your Lordship be kind enough,’ Alan asked, ‘to repeat the last statement?’

The eyebrows beetled. Was there the faintest of smiles beneath them? It was hard to decide.

‘I stated,’ Mr Justice Willis answered, ‘that if the Immigration Department was adamant, you could always apply for a writ of mandamus.’

A dawning comprehension – and anger – were mirrored in

A. R. Butler’s face. In Alan’s mind two words drummed out like starter’s pistols: obiter dictum.

Obiter dictum: that which is said by the way… a judge’s opinion, off the cuff, on a point of law not material to his immediate decision… Obiter dictum, without binding authority… intended for guidance… Guidance.

Mr Justice Willis had spoken casually, as if an offhand thought had come and gone. But there was nothing casual, Alan now realized, about the mind of this shrewd judge whom he had so falsely suspected of indifference and dozing.

‘Thank you, my lord,’ Alan said. ‘I shall apply for mandamus immediately.’

A writ of mandamus was not material today. But it could be, if applied for. Mandamus, the ancient ‘we command!’… instructing a public officer to do his public duty… prerogative of English kings since the Reformation, and nowadays of judges, though seldom invoked.

Such a writ, directed to Edgar Kramer with all the power of the court behind it, would compel him to hold the hearing Alan sought without delay or further question. And by obiter dictum Mr Justice Willis had made clear that a mandamus writ, if sought, would now be granted.

‘Look at them huddling,’ Tom Lewis whispered. ‘They’re in a real sweat.’

Across the courtroom, heads together, A. R. Butler, Edgar Kramer and the shipping-company lawyer were engaged in urgent, low-voiced discussion.

After a moment A. R. Butler, red-faced and no longer affable, rose and faced the bench. With barely controlled politeness, he said, ‘I request Your Lordship’s permission for a few moments’ discussion with my client.’

‘Very well.’ His fingertips together, the judge surveyed the ceiling as he waited. Counsel for the stowaway had been as alert and astute as he had hoped.

Alan sat down.

‘Bless his old grey hairs!’ Tom Lewis murmured.

‘Did you get it?’ Alan asked.

‘I didn’t at first,’ Tom whispered, ‘I do now. Good for you!’

Alan nodded. Inwardly beaming, he was careful not to show it.

The judge’s seemingly casual words had, he knew, placed the other side in an impossible position. The Immigration Department, in the person of Edgar Kramer, must choose immediately between one of two courses: either continue to refuse the special inquiry which Alan sought, or change its mind and grant it. If the first choice were made, Alan could apply for the writ of mandamus which would force Kramer’s hand. Moreover, by taking his time about obtaining the writ and serving it, Alan could make certain that Henri Duval was ashore, enmeshed in legal proceedings, when the Vastervik sailed.

On the other hand – as Edgar Kramer had shrewdly pointed out at their first meeting – if the department granted the hearing it would have recognized Henri Duval officially, thus opening the way to further legal steps, including avenues of appeal. And this way too, chances were good that procedures could be extended until the Vastervik had gone leaving Henri Duval in Canada as a fait accompli.

A. R. Butler was on his feet again. Some, though not all, of the apparent good humour had returned. But behind him Edgar Kramer was scowling.

‘My lord, I wish to announce that the Department of Citizenship and Immigration, having regard to Your Lordship’s wishes – though not, I would point out, legally bound to do so – has decided to hold a special inquiry into the case of my friend’s client, Mr Duval.’

Leaning forward, Mr Justice Willis said sharply, ‘I expressed no wish.’

‘If Your Lordship pleases…’

‘I expressed no wish,’ the judge repeated firmly. ‘If the department chooses to hold a hearing, it is its own decision. But there has been no pressure from this source. Is that clearly understood, Mr Butler?’

A. R. Butler appeared to swallow. ‘Yes, my lord, it is understood.’

Facing Alan, the judge asked sternly, ‘Are you satisfied, Mr Maitland?’

Alan rose, ‘Yes, my lord,’ he answered. ‘Entirely satisfied.’

There was a second hurried consultation between A. R. Butler and Edgar Kramer. The latter appeared to be making an emphatic point. The lawyer nodded several times and, at the end, was smiling. Now he faced the judge again.

‘There is one further point, my lord.’

‘Yes?’

Glancing sideways towards Alan, A. R. Butler asked, ‘Would Mr Maitland be free for further consultation on this matter later today?’

Mr Justice Willis frowned. This was time wasting. Private meetings between opposing counsel were no business of the court’s.

With a sense of embarrassment for Butler, Alan nodded and answered, ‘Yes.’ Now that he had gained his objective there was no point, he thought, in being uncooperative.

Ignoring the judge’s frown, A. R. Butler said blandly, ‘I am glad of Mr Maitland’s assurance on that point because in view of the special circumstances it would seem expedient to bring on this matter promptly. Therefore the Department of Citizenship and Immigration proposes to hold the special inquiry later today at a time convenient to Mr Maitland and his client.’

He had, Alan realized glumly, been neatly hooked by an expert angler. Except for his own too eager assent of a moment earlier, he could have objected to the short notice, pleaded other business…

The score, if you thought of it that way, was even.

The austere gaze of Mr Justice Willis was upon him. ‘We may as well settle this. Is that agreeable, Mr Maitland?’

Alan hesitated, then glanced at Tom Lewis who shrugged. They shared the same thought, Alan knew: that once more Edgar Kramer had foreseen and forestalled their plan of delaying tactics – the only real resource they had. Now, with the special inquiry this afternoon, even the legal steps to follow might not last long enough to keep Henri Duval ashore until the Vastervik sailed. Victory, which a moment ago had seemed within reach, had now receded.

Reluctantly Alan said, ‘Yes, my lord – agreeable.’

As A. R. Butler smiled benignly, the reporters scrambled for the door. Only one figure was ahead of them – Edgar Kramer, his face strained and body tense, was hurrying, almost running, from the courtroom.

Chapter 2

As Alan Maitland left the courtroom he was surrounded by a half-dozen reporters who had returned from telephoning their stories.

‘Mr Maitland, what are the chances now?’… ‘When do we get to see Duval?’… ‘Hey, Maitland! – what’s with this special inquiry?’… ‘Yeah, what’s so special about it?’… ‘Tell us about that writ business. Did you get the wrong one?’

‘No; Alan snapped. ‘I didn’t.’

More reporters were joining the group, partially blocking the already busy corridor.

‘Then what the…’

‘Look,’ Alan protested, ‘I can’t talk about a case that’s still under way. You all know that.’

‘Explain that to my editor, chum…’

‘For crying out loud, give us something!’

‘All right,’ Alan said. There was an immediate quietening. The group pressed in as people from other courts pushed by.

‘The situation is simply that the Department of Immigration has agreed to hold a special inquiry into my client’s case.’

Some of the passers-by looked at Alan curiously.

‘Who does the inquiring?’

‘Usually a senior immigration officer.’

‘Will young Duval be present?’

‘Of course,’ Alan said. ‘He has to answer questions.’

‘How about you?’

‘Yes, I’ll be there.’

‘Where is it held – this hearing?’

‘At the Immigration Building.’

‘Can we get in?’

‘No. It’s a departmental inquiry and it isn’t open to the public or the Press.’

‘Will there be a statement afterwards?’

‘You’ll have to ask Mr Kramer about that.’

Someone murmured: ‘That stiff-necked sod!’

‘What good will a hearing do if you couldn’t get Duval in the country already?’

‘Sometimes at a proper inquiry new facts come out which are important.’ But it was only a slender hope, Alan knew. Any real chance for the youthful stowaway lay in legal delay, which now had been circumvented.

‘What’s your feeling about what happened this morning?’

‘Sorry. I can’t discuss that.’

Tom Lewis appeared quietly beside Alan.

‘Hi; Alan greeted him. ‘Where’d you disappear to?’

His partner replied softly, ‘I was curious about Kramer, so I followed him out. Well, did you fix a time with your buddy, Butler?’

‘I talked to him. We agreed on four o’clock;

A reporter asked, ‘What was that?’

Alan answered, ‘The special inquiry is to be held at four o’clock. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a lot to do before then.’

Disengaging himself from the group, he moved away with Tom Lewis.

Out of the reporters’ hearing Alan asked, ‘What was that about Kramer?’

‘Nothing really. He was just in a hurry to get to the can. While I was there I hung out beside him and for a minute or two he seemed almost in pain. I figured the poor bastard has some kind of prostate trouble.’

It explained Edgar Kramer’s restlessness in court, the obvious distress towards the end. The fact was insignificant; all the same, Alan filed it away mentally.

Walking along, they had come to the wide stone stairway leading to the main floor below.

A soft voice behind them said, ‘Mr Maitland, could you answer one more question?’

‘I already explained…’ Alan turned, then stopped. ‘All I wanted to know,’ Sharon Deveraux said, her deep eyes innocent, ‘was where are you going to lunch?’

Startled and pleased, Alan asked, ‘Where did you spring from?’

‘Spring is the word,’ Tom said. He was looking at Sharon’s hat, a wispy affair of velvet and net veiling. ‘You remind me of it.’

‘I was in court,’ Sharon smiled. ‘I snuck in at the back. I didn’t understand it all, but I thought Alan was wonderful, didn’t you?’

‘Oh, sure,’ Tom Lewis said. ‘Of course, he just happened to have the judge in his pocket, but he was wonderful, all right.’ ‘Aren’t lawyers supposed to be responsive?’ Sharon said.

‘No one’s answered my question about lunch.’

‘I hadn’t planned anything,’ Alan said, then brightened. ‘Right by our office we could offer you a nice line in pizza pie.’

Together they began walking down the stairs, Sharon between them.

‘Or streaming, creamy spaghetti,’ Tom urged. ‘With oozy hot meat sauce – the kind that trickles out both corners of your mouth and meets in rivulets at the chin.’

Sharon laughed. ‘Some day I’d love to. What I really came to say, though, is that Granddaddy wondered if you could join him. He’d very much like to hear from you directly how things are going.’

The prospect of accompanying Sharon anywhere was enticing. All the same, Alan looked doubtfully at his watch.

‘It needn’t take long,’ Sharon assured him. ‘Granddaddy has a suite in the Georgia. He keeps it for when he’s downtown, and he’s there now.’

‘You mean,’ Tom asked curiously, ‘he rents a suite there all the time?’

‘I know.’ Sharon nodded. ‘It’s dreadfully extravagant and

I’m always telling him so. Sometimes it goes for weeks without being used.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,’ Tom told her airily. ‘I’m just sorry I’ve never thought of it myself. Only the day before yesterday I was caught in a shower downtown with just a drugstore to go into.’